


Get In, Loser - We're Committing Grand Larceny

by MaggotMagnet



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Cartoony, Cocaine, Comedy, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunken Shenanigans, Friendship, Gen, Heist, Humor, Lamborghini, POOR ROUNDABOUT, Ridiculous, Robbery, Shotgun, Slice of Life, Song: Bad Guy (Billie Eilish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggotMagnet/pseuds/MaggotMagnet
Summary: The VILE faculty plans a fun icebreaker activity - a jewelry store heist - and invites Roundabout to see if he can keep up.Meanwhile, Chase is way too drunk to find his Lyft home.Everything goes horribly, horribly wrong...or horribly right?A wacky comedy, ENJOY!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Get In, Loser - We're Committing Grand Larceny

It was 3 AM on a cul-de-sac in West Brompton — when the roar of a car engine, whistling of wind, and bass-boosted Billie Eillish ripped through the night.

Within a breaking-the-speed-limit second, the jet-black Lamborghini screeched to a halt in front of a small Wright-style mansion. The horn honked thrice, music and headlights still blaring.

Inside the car, $15,000’s worth of customizations made all the lights green and turquoise, and the seats were upholstered with cheetah-skin leather. The man at the wheel was Professor Maelstrom, wearing Opinari driving gloves with Tom Ford sunglasses tucked into his lapel, and sporting a smirk. “We have arrived at our destination,” he said drily, before honking the horn, which was custom-fitted to emit the eponymous  _ ‘Move, Bitch!’ _ clipped from the Ludacris song “Move Bitch, Get Out The Way.”

Cleo was in the back, inspecting her black-and-white outfit in the mirror. “Ugh, this place is a slum! Honk again.”

“Now, my classist Countess,” began Gunnar, eying her through the mirror, “we  _ must _ be patient with our potential recruit. Roundabout needs his chance to prove himself a worthy addition to our team. We mustn't let ourselves get angry.”

As he spoke, Cleo reached past him and smacked the horn, emitting another  _ Move Bitch! _

“I get angry whenever I see his god-damn bowtie,” growled Coach Brunt from the shotgun seat, using her slav-sleeve to polish a shotgun.

After an awkward rumbling silence (despite the music), the car dinged and flooded with green light; the left passenger door had carefully creaked open. 

“Oh — hello? I hope I’m not too late?” He laughed in a chipper manner.

“Stop being so British and get in.”

“Certainly, Gunnar! Pardon me.” The sweaty tuxedo climbed in beside Cleo and pulled the door shut with the delicacy of a monk turning an ancient page of a King James Bible. 

“Close the door,” muttered Gunnar.

“Oh? I thought I did — I’m dreadfully sorry — ”

“Cloooossse itttt,” said Professor Maelstrom through his teeth.

He slammed it, and the brisk lights finally faded to nil.

“Good evening, Roustabout,” said Cleo, being polite.

“Roustabout? Did you say Roustabout? I’m sorry but my name is Roundabout, you know, like the traffic...road...type? They’re the very safest traffic junction.”

“Oh,” Cleo said. “Very villainous.”

“Yes, innit?” He presented a small crinkly bag of Terra vegetable chips to the car. “Oh, by the by, anyone up for a little nosh? I brought some crisps—”

Professor Maelstrom nearly jumped out of his seat to turn around. “Are you JOKING? The Cleaners JUST vacuumed TWO DAYS prior! Do you know what I would DO if I saw a single crumb in thi — ”

In a swooshing split-second, Coach Brunt grabbed the skinny man’s jacket and shoved him back to his seat. “Cool it, Slim!” she loudly whispered. “I thought you wanted to hire this guy, not kill him on the first outing!”

Of course it was not a very effective whisper. Roundabout paled. “I don’t think killing me would be the best idea...it would likely require more cleanup than the crisps.”

Gunnar soon sighed and uttered, “I — apologize,” but only because Coach Brunt was discreetly aiming her shotgun at him.

“No worries,” said Roundabout, still trembling.

With that, Gunnar fiddled with the stick-shift, slammed the gas, and did a screeching double-donut out of the cul-de-sac. The greased Lambo zoomed through the neighborhood streets at 70 miles an hour, still blasting Billie’s voice through its subwoofer.

* * *

Meanwhile, Chase had had an absolutely incredible evening. After a lot of tireless work, and after hours of effort, he had finally done it. FINALLY! 

“I GOT LAID!!” he screamed into the empty street. 

He had just clambered down a hall’s stairs and burst out of a random brownstone’s front doors, and was presently smiling madly at the dark street. His tie was loose; his jacket was crooked; his hair twirled in on itself as if he just did a mile run in a hurricane. With the exuberance of a lottery ticket winner, he flung both his arms up in victory.

“HA HA!  _ YES! _ ”

Even though it was not raining, he twirled around a lamppost and began a terrible rendition of  _ Singin’ In the Rain _ .

“Je  _ vieeeeens _ de baiser, je  _ vieeens _ de baiSEEER! What a won-derful FEEELING, I’m HAPPPYYY agai — oh, shit.”

Mid-twirl, he was struck by the reasons tonight’s spelunking had been a terrible idea. The ACME Detective Conference was at 9 AM and he was going to have to act like he  _ wasn’t _ freshly squeezed and hungover in front of the Chief, and hundreds of agents, and maybe Julia and Zari, if he happened to run into them.

But, more urgently, Chase had to get back to the London Marriot across the river (ACME had funded his suite). It was a 40-minute walk to South Bank and Chase knew he would pass out of exhaustion if he even tried to walk to the closest Tesco’s. He’d already done enough exercise for the night.

Grumbling resolutely, Chase withdrew his cracked phone and drunk-ordered a Lyft back to the hotel. Sadly, because of the odd hour, it was a 15-minute wait until the arrival of ‘Frederick.’

“DIEU! I’m hungry. I should see what else I can get. _ Besides laid! _ ”

* * *

“Say, chaps; where  _ are _ we off to?”

Cleo gasped at him, appalled. “I texted you this evening!”

“No...? All you wrote was ‘We’re outside’ at 2:45 AM and a middle finger emoji.”

“CLEO!” yelled the duo in the front seats.

“Oh, hush up! I was texting Anish Kapoor and I got distracted. Anywho, I meant to tell you we’re going to Liberty Mall in the West End.”

“Oh, huzzah! A bit of shopping? I regretfully report that it does close at 11PM—”

“Not for us.”

“Oh? Do we have an all-access shopping pass?”

“You could say that.”

“Oh, lovely! Does it come with the card? I wish Bloomingdale’s had a similar policy.”

Coach Brunt  _ cha-chick _ ed her shotgun. “We’re robbin’ it, dingus.”

“OH! OH dear — I mean, wonderful! Great!”

Gunnar explained, over the music, “Yes. A bit of tomfoolery. You and Brunt are going to go in, smash the display and treat yourselves; then we all drive off with your spoils.”

“Me? Why me? Why not — uh — Cleo?”

Cleo plunked a duffel bag onto her lap. “Oh, I’ve already completed my heist’s work. I scheduled it and did costume.” She unzipped the bag and withdrew two very vogue black masks. She passed one to Brunt.

“But — but what about the wacky science lady I forgot her name?”

“Oh, Dr. Bellum said she’d rather watch Big Bang Theory than hang out with us,” huffed Cleo, helping Roundabout into his mask by force-pulling it over his face.

“Why — this isn’t quite so subtle as your regular heists, my friends. I beg to inquire why we don’t just buy majority shares of the company and extort its CEO into doubling the prices of the necklaces, while giving us his blood-diamonds, and selling counterfeits — thereby exploiting the ‘free’ market in our favor, and threatening rival companies with inflation until we can clandestinely merge and monopolize the entire diamond industry?”

“Because I wanna rob a store,” said Brunt in her mask. 

As they neared the mall, Maelstrom described how he would drop them off a block away, and then pick them up at the storefront, and they’d better get it right or else. Before long, the Lambo screeched to a halt by the sidewalk, but it was going so fast it accidentally totalled the car in front of it.

“Double crime!” exclaimed Brunt with joy. “Come on — finish it off!”

As was tradition, Professor Maelstrom quickly snapped open a ring on his finger containing exactly 1 serving of rhino horn cocaine and snorted it joyfully. “AGH!”

“TRIPLE CRIME!” said Brunt, after which she cocked her shotgun and lept out of the car.

Even after her door slammed shut, the masked Roundabout looked too anxious to move. Like the helpful friends they are, Professor Maelstrom and Cleo chanted in unison, “GO, GO, GO!” and slapped limp wrists against the poor man until he emitted a strange cry, snatched the duffel bag, and scrambled out of the car to join the burlier robber. 

* * *

Chase was wobbling around the streets, nearly tripping over his own shoes. “FREDERICK?” he called once in a while, waving his glowing phone in the air like the torch of a man stranded on a random island (he would know). A few cars passed by, and he had walked down and across two streets with no sign of the incoming taxicab.

He felt a rush of adrenaline as he saw a red figure in the distance — “La Femme Rouge!” he cried, and ran across the empty, slippery street. But as he neared it, he realized the red figure that stood before him was a British mailbox.

He slumped onto it. “Ohhhh...I’m done for. FREDERICK HELP!!”

* * *

Soon the glass storefront was shot and shattered, necklaces were stuffed into bags, and alarm bells were ringing in orchestral fashion, joined by the soft underscore of distant police sirens.

In the car, the Countess was on Facetime with Dr. Bellum, pointing her phone out the window. “Oh my God! They’re tearing it up,” she narrated.

“Wowwww, I sort of wish I went,” said Dr. Bellum, audibly chewing. “J.K., I’m eating all the Trader Joe’s spanakopitas and having way more fun than you.”

The drugged-up Maelstrom heard that: “Hey — those are mine! Don’t eat them all, you PSYCHOPATH!”

“Bazinga!” said Dr. Bellum.

Unexpectedly, the car flooded with light again, and Coach Brunt slammed herself into the front seat, shaking the entire frame of the vehicle. Maelstrom and Cleo perked up, and Maelstrom screamed with cocaine-fueled excitement.

“We got a shit-ton!” said Brunt, pulling her sweaty mask off. “He’s coming — get ready to roll!”

“Helt klart!” An ominously giggling Professor Maelstrom revved up the gas and placed his bony hand on the stick-shift—when he heard the car open and flood with light and the door slam, he honked the  _ Move Bitch! _ and shifted into high-gear, taking off down the road at breakneck speed.

“WOOOOOHOOHOOOHOO!!” hollered Brunt. In her thrill, she leaned back and boom-fired her remaining bullets out the sunroof. Sparkling shards of glass exploded onto the cupholders and across the seats.

At this point, Maelstrom was too high to notice or care. Instead, he screamed, “JÄVLA JA!”

“MARVELOUS!” said Cleo.

“I did not realize I got Uber pool,” said a French voice.

Suddenly the entire car looked back at the man who last spoke.

“EWWWW!” 

“MOTHER OF GOD!”

“ROUNDABOUT, WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?” screamed Maelstrom with genuine confusion.

“It’s Chase! Chase! Look at my picture on the app, it is me.” He stretched out, swiping some glass from his seat. He then lifted a little baggy. “Oh it even has snacks. Okay, fine; you get 4 stars, Frederick.” 

“Coach Brunt, SHOOT HIM!” screamed Cleo.

“Aw, I ain’t gonna get the car all bloody! This guy’s drunk off his ass — he’s not gonna remember a single thing by this morning.”

Chase attempted to stuff a handful of chips into his mouth, and somehow failed. He then turned to the passenger beside him and said, “Careful with your dress, madame. I don’t want that shoulder to accidentally stab me.”

“If you get stabbed in this car,” said Cleo, “it will not be an accident.”

“Stop tryin’ to kill him, you two!” Coach Brunt turned around: “Honey, where the Hell are you trying to go?”

“Euhhh...hotel...big spinny wheel glowy.”

“Ugh. Maelstrom, he’s referring to the County Hall Marriott. We’re nearly there. It’s just across the river Thames.”

“Perfect. We can throw him off the bridge.”

“Throw me off, eh?!” exploded Chase, crinkling the bag and tossing it aside. “Just try! I will kick your  _ assssss _ .” He pulled out an ID card and flipped it open in Cleo’s and then Brunt’s face. “I’m Interpol, or, I mean ACME. One of those. But if any of you lay a finger on me, vous will be  _ fucked _ ! Not literally though. I have had enough sex for one night!”

“Wait a second, you’re Interpol?” Coach Brunt took her mask off, intrigued. “Buddy, whatever they’re paying you, we can triple it.”

“ _ Not _ interested.”

“It comes with a Roth 401k, health and dental, free castle housing, and your own helicopter.”

“Noooo.”

“Free cocaine for life,” said Cleo.

“DEAL!” Chase laughed loudly and shook her hand. “But be warned, cactus witch! I crash a lot of cars and rip a lot of suits. And I am obsessed with Carmen Sandiego!”

“You’ll fit right in!” said an enthusiastic Maelstrom.

* * *

Meanwhile, the wailing of British police sirens and blaring lights surrounded the jewelry store. A little sweaty British man was having his wrists shackled together.

“Please — this is all a big misunderstanding! How much may I bribe you all to keep your mouths shut? 2 million? 3 million?”

“Bribe it to the judge,” said the police officers, stuffing him in the car and taking off.

As they sped to the station, Roundabout yelled out the back window, “DAMN YOU VILE!!!! YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!!! Oh— at least I still have my crisps. WAIT WHERE’S MY CRISPS?  _ NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> LOOOL DID YA LIKE IT :)


End file.
